On The Vanity of the Sun

I walk the streets now, newfound desire,
Unaware, yet, as ever, of the show being played out around;
And only, perhaps, in answer to her little-opened window.
True, when the sun is lazy in the afternoons,
She lifts her hand upto the window,
sitting beside it herself, pushing it out a little;
just a little, just so the sliver the sun sends so anxiously only for her,
now perches itself on a little seat on her temple,
lights her so.
She continues brushing her dark, lonely hair,
Unaware, still, of the sun's eager gift,
and my entrance.
Waiting, perhaps, only for restful sleep.

(contd..) Intruding Now – or, making envious the sun
She lies in her repose now – I, intruder, beside her;
When she, full of causeless desire, of uncharted dreams,
And little wayward smiles that question me so,
Leans ever so slightly towards
And with one last giggle,
Forgives my trespassing, I imagine.
And so, she will forget me soon,
As the countless others before;
Yet, it is merely some of what I love of her.

(2005)